


Whispers of Love

by CelesteFitzgerald



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/pseuds/CelesteFitzgerald
Summary: Ringo plays with George's hair - ortriesto, at least. All these tangles and knots are making it difficult.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	Whispers of Love

It was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the window, growing brighter now that the sun had passed its highest point and was sinking lower in the sky, aiming its rays directly at the happy couple lying on the sofa.

Ringo’s back was against the backrest of the sofa, but the cushions weren’t nearly as soft as the kiss that George whispered against his lips. George’s eyes were closed—if it weren’t for the way George kept brushing their lips together and curling his stockinged toes against Ringo’s, Ringo would have thought he was asleep.

Gently, Ringo slid his arm around George’s waist and pulled him closer, drawing a sigh from George’s lips that Ringo felt against his own. Their lips paused and moved apart as George tilted his head so that their foreheads were pressed together and their noses were resting alongside each other.

“Can we just stay here forever?” George mumbled, his breath tickling Ringo’s chin.

Ringo wanted to cry out “yes,” to tell George that he’d never leave him in a million years. But George’s touch stopped his mouth from functioning, so all he could do was let out a quiet, “Mm,” and slide his hand higher on George’s back.

As Ringo continued rubbing, his fingers met a few strands of George’s hair. It was getting so long now, reaching the middle of George’s back, and Ringo couldn’t be happier about it. There were few things better than the feeling of George’s hair sliding between his fingers while George smiled and drifted to sleep from the tingly sensations. With the added length, it would feel even better. Ringo brought his hand to the back of George’s head, running his thumb over the nape of George’s neck before gliding his fingers through his hair—

“ _Ow_.” George looked at him with a scrunched face and clenched teeth from the awkward angle at which his neck was now bent.

“Shit, sorry,” Ringo said, untangling his hand from the knot in George’s hair. “What the fuck did you do to your hair to mess it up like that?”

“Didn’t do anything,” George muttered. “You probably just picked an unlucky spot—try it again.” He grabbed Ringo’s hand and guided it back to his hair. Once again, Ringo’s fingers snagged on a knot, and George hissed as his head jerked backward. “What the hell is happening?” George asked.

“It’s probably ‘cause it’s so long now,” Ringo said, tracing little circles on George’s scalp to make up for the pain he had caused. “Easier for it to get matted up.”

“Well, that’s a real mood killer, isn’t it?” George said, laughing. But once the laughter stopped, the corners of his lips turned downward and his eyes drifted away from Ringo’s and toward the sofa.

“C’mon, love, we can work with this,” Ringo said before kissing the tip of George’s nose. He gathered up all of George’s hair and encircled the whole bundle with his fingers, sliding his hand down and taking care not to let his fingers get caught between the strands. “Hm?” he asked, looking to George for approval.

George shrugged. “It’s alright…It’s not the same.”

Grunting, Ringo sat up. “Alright, let’s go.” He grabbed George’s hand and pulled him up as well.

“Where?”

Ringo didn’t respond as he led George from the sofa and into the bedroom. He dropped George’s hand and walked to the dresser to retrieve a hairbrush. Then he plopped onto the edge of the bed. “C’mere,” he said, widening his legs to make room for George.

With an amused grin, George sat between Ringo’s legs. “What’s this? Gonna give me a makeover?”

Ringo snorted. “Oh yeah, like _you_ need a makeover,” he said, kissing George’s neck. He spread George’s hair across his back and picked up a small section of it.

As soon as Ringo made his first pass through George’s hair with the brush, George hummed and relaxed further. Ringo took it slowly, working through knots carefully until each section of hair was smooth. The silence that fell over them was as warm as the fingertips that George trailed over Ringo’s thighs.

Before long, every stroke of the brush came out clean, so Ringo set it down and let his fingers do the work. George sighed at the feeling and rubbed his palm over Ringo’s knee. Ringo had been right—with George’s hair being so long, running his fingers through the full, soft length felt lovely. And he wanted to make it even better.

Ringo divided George’s hair into sections, making them as even as possible. He picked up a couple of them, considering the what the next step should be—

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you that makeover you asked for.”

George laughed, the movement making his hair wave. “What type of makeover?”

“A plait.”

George turned his head toward Ringo. “You know how to plait?”

“…Eh, how hard can it be? Now keep your head still—you’re messing up my system,” Ringo said, cupping each side of George’s face to straighten out his head—but not before leaning up to peck him on the cheek.

“Alright, alright,” George said, holding still as he laughed softly.

Ringo returned to his project, twisting together the sections of hair in a way that seemed logical in his head. They kept unwinding themselves on his first few attempts, but eventually it managed to hold its shape. He worked his way lower…and hoped that the awkward bend in the middle would fix itself by the end. A couple spots looked a bit looser than the rest, but maybe they wouldn’t be too noticeable. And those loose ends sticking out at random points throughout the entire plait could probably be tucked back inside.

When he reached the end, Ringo realized he didn’t have a way to tie it off. Thinking quickly, he tied a loose knot at the bottom and surveyed his work…

“Oh, god.”

“That bad?” George asked.

“…Um,” Ringo mumbled, not wanting to admit how awful the plait looked—if it could even be called a plait. Funny how Ringo had spent so much time untangling the knots in George’s hair only to ruin it with a massive net of new knots.

“I need to see this,” George laughed, standing up.

“ _Or,_ ” Ringo said, hooking his arm around George’s waist and pulling him back down, “I could take it out so we can just pretend this never happened?”

George freed himself from Ringo’s grip and squeezed his hand. “Nice try,” he said, kissing Ringo’s forehead before walking to the mirror. He grabbed the plait and craned his neck to the side to get the best angle, and—

“Oh my _god_ ,” George gasped, his whole body shaking with laughter. “Ritchie, what the fuck did you— _hah_ —what did you _do?_ ”

“My best,” Ringo said, cracking a smile himself.

George squeal-laughed into his hand as he clutched the dresser for stability. “It looks— _pfft_ —it looks like shit.”

“Why, thank you, my darling,” Ringo said, resting his elbows on his knees as he took in the sight of George. With the bright red flush on George’s cheeks and his bright, toothy smile on display, Ringo almost forgot about the plait. “Get back here, Georgie—let me take the plait out.”

“Are you kidding?” George asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m not taking this out.”

“What? But you said it yourself—I did a shit job.”

“So?” George said, walking back to the bed and sitting down sideways across Ringo’s lap. “It’s still the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ringo chuckled as he placed his hands on George’s hips. “Your standards are way too low.”

“It doesn’t matter how high or low my standards are,” George said, wrapping his arms around Ringo’s neck. “You’ll always find a way to exceed them.”

“I must have tugged on your hair too hard and given you a concussion,” Ringo said while George pressed little kisses to his face. “This is cheesy, even for you.”

George paused in his kissing. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” Ringo said, stealing a quick kiss on the lips.

“Good,” George said before bringing their lips back together. Ringo lost himself in the taste of George’s lips, and—without thinking—he raised his hand to the back of George’s head and bumped his knuckles against the plait. He was about to apologize when he felt George giggling against his mouth.

Ringo kept running his hand over the plait until both of them were out of breath from laughing and kissing. With one hand still caressing Ringo’s face, George rested his head in the curve of Ringo’s neck. The plait was draped over his shoulder, dangling between the two of them as George whispered his love for Ringo and held him close.

Maybe the plait wasn’t such a bad idea after all.


End file.
